The Pain Of Discipline
by caremkefo
Summary: When teenage Dean disobeys John and nearly gets himself killed, John decides a harsher punishment it needed. As he lies across his father's lap and the blows keep raining down on his ass, Dean is embarrassed to realise he likes it. (Reference to Dean/Cas at the end.)


_"My father liked me, when I wasna being an idiot._  
_And he loved me, too - enough to beat the daylights out of me when I was being an idiot."_  
― Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

* * *

Dean flinched when his dad threw the motel room door open and it slammed against the wall. He was going to be in so much shit as soon as he walked through the door. He took his time getting their gear out of the trunk before following his dad inside. He dropped the bag when he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

"What am I going to do with you, Dean?" John yelled as soon as the door was closed. "If I can't trust you to follow my orders, then I'm not going to be able to take you out on hunts."

"No, Dad—"

"_Dean!_"

Dean fell silent.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who remembers your mother. Sam argues with me every time we move on, but he was only six months old when she died! I expect better from you."

Dean looked at his feet, hating that he was such a disappointment. All he wanted was for his dad to be proud of him, and he failed every single time. He did everything his dad asked of him, and still he paid more attention to Sam than him. And how could his dad say that he'd forgotten his mom? He missed her every single day.

"I keep you from hunts when you act out. I make you clean the car. I make you clean the guns. And _still_ you disobey me!"

"Dad, that's not—"

"DEAN!"

Dean scowled, but bit his tongue.

"I've never supported physical punishment, but you've given me no other choice, Dean."

Dean's eyes widened, and he took a step back. His dad had never raised a hand to him or Sammy – not that he'd ever let him hit Sam – so surely he wasn't going to start now?

John sat down on the end of the bed. "Remove your jeans and come here," he said, patting his lap.

"Dad—"

"_Now_, Dean."

Dean would never admit that his hands shook as he unbuttoned his jeans, pulled the zipper down, and slid them over his hips. He'd never admit that the seven steps from the door to his father's bed was the longest walk he'd ever taken. And he'd never admit that, in that moment, he was terrified of his dad.

He obediently lay across his dad's legs and tensed as he was manoeuvred into position. The first blow was hard and heavy, and he gasped in shock.

"I hate that you're making me do this, Dean."

The second blow was harder than the first, and Dean braced himself for more. The third landed directly on top of the second and Dean shouted out.

"Why can't you just be a good son?"

The fourth caught him on the fleshy part at the top of his thigh, and Dean blinked back tears. He was a good son, and would take his punishment like a good son. He'd show his dad how wrong he was about him.

"Why can't you just do what I tell you to do?"

Dean was beginning to suspect his dad was talking to himself, now – listing all the ways Dean disappointed him. And so he listened, learning what he needed to do, to _be_, to make his dad proud of him.

The tenth blow pushed treacherous tears from his eyes.

"Maybe the next time I tell you to wait in the car you will, instead of disobeying me and nearly getting yourself killed."

When the fifteenth fell, Dean could feel his cock hardening in his boxers.

_No. Not now._ It was bad enough that time he'd been working on a project with Sarah in school and she was fingering that necklace around her neck when the top button on her blouse had popped undone. She'd hit puberty before any of the other girls in the class so Dean had glimpsed her breasts and got a boner there and then right before they'd had to stand up in front of the entire class and present their work. He'd had to run out of the classroom with his teacher shouting his name and hide in the toilets until it had gone away, and he'd narrowly escaped detention by pretending he'd felt sick. And this was _definitely_ not the time to get a boner. He flushed, partly at the memory and partly because he was definitely getting hard.

When the thirtieth blow fell, Dean realised it was the pain that was getting him hard.

Dean was trying not to count, because he didn't know how many time his dad was going to hit him and he didn't _want_ to know, but he couldn't stop himself.

When the fortieth fell, he was beginning to ache. And he didn't mean his ass.

When the fiftieth fell and his dad told him to put his jeans back on, Dean was relieved and eager to relieve himself in another way.

"Now I'm going to pick Sam up from the library. I expect you to be showered and ready for bed when we get back – we've got a long drive ahead of us tomorrow and we'll be leaving early."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as his dad gave him permission to go, he fled to the bathroom. He jerked off in the shower and his knees buckled when he came. He'd jerked off to the women in the _Busty Asian Beauties_ magazines he sometimes managed to sneak into his bag before, but he'd never come that hard.

. * * * .

Dean would never tell anyone that John had spanked him, and would die before he admitted that he'd liked it. When he got older, and started going on hunts by himself, Dean always liked to find one of _those_ sorts of clubs, where he could pay to get spanked. He never told the girls he dated, though. Sometimes they wanted _him_ to spank _them_, and he wished he could find the words to ask them to reciprocate, but he never could.

But Castiel knew. Of course he did. Castiel knew Dean better than he knew himself. While he could read Dean's mind he never would, because Dean had asked him not to. But Castiel had already seen all his deepest, darkest secrets when he rebuilt him. And so when Dean lay across Castiel's lap, his ass red and his cock leaking as he begged for permission to come, he took pleasure in the pain, because Castiel would always give him what he needed – what he was too ashamed to ask for; what he was too ashamed to want.


End file.
